


Sunset Souls and Paper Hearts

by xLion_Heartx



Series: Science Experiments [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ...With Help, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Character and Additional Tags to be Added, Flashbacks, HYDRA Experiment Darcy, Multi, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Steve and Tony are Good at Communicating, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24476833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLion_Heartx/pseuds/xLion_Heartx
Summary: “Darcy doesn’t really recall how she got here, with Strucker that is, she knows she hasn’t always been if the lingering memory of dramatically blond locks and blinding lightning tells her anything. Why the god who’s name frequently escapes her is the last thing she remembers is beyond her, perhaps his presence is simply so powerful its hard to forget (no matter how hard HYDRA wishes to make her).No matter what she does or doesn’t know has no meaning now. This is her life and she lives it as she can.”
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Pietro Maximoff, Darcy Lewis & Thor, Darcy Lewis & Wanda Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Series: Science Experiments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767961
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83





	1. Different

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ 
> 
> So, this is a rewrite of my unfinished fic Connections to Nowhere. Bits of the plot have been altered, and my overall writing is of slightly better quality than before (I hope) so for returning readers that’s all you have to worry about!
> 
> For fresh readers, ignore that top bit and only worry about the fact that in this timeline, Bucky stuck around with Steve after the events of Winter Soldier.

Darcy Lewis has never quite described herself as important, not really. She’d argue she’s _different_ , but not necessarily important to any bigger picture; Strucker’s experiments have always been more of a testing-our-limits kind of deal anyway.

Darcy doesn’t really recall how she got here, with Strucker that is, she knows she’s not always been if the lingering memory of dramatically blond locks and blinding lightning tells her anything. Why the god who’s name frequently escapes her is the last thing she remembers is beyond her, perhaps his presence is simply so powerful its hard to forget (no matter how hard HYDRA wishes to make her).

No matter what she does or doesn’t know has no meaning now. This is her life and she lives it as she can.

She’s not the only successful experiment in this facility, thankfully, there used to be four of them but the haunting echo of a time long past reminds her that they’re now three. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, twins, are the survivors of Strucker’s first experiments and, subsequently, her only friends - if not family. They’re all constantly made aware of the old Asset as well, something - or she supposes, someone - from another facility long since destroyed; they know not to end up like him, or risk losing the last bit of memory and relative freedom they have here as well as losing each other permanently.

The best way to describe the Maximoff twins would be playful and complicated.

Pietro is snarky and boisterous with an underlying yearning to learn, he’s the fastest thing on the planet and can eat about a house’s weight worth of food per single meal (not that he gets that). His hair is starting to turn platinum, he’s beginning to buzz with electricity, and he gets stronger by the month.

Wanda is on the quieter side with a love of reading, often falling into bouts of easy grins and constant teasing, she can move things with harsh licks of red and sift through your memories like a box of old toys. The ends of her hair are starting to tint red, her powers are a constant hum around the room, and she pushes her limits wherever possible.

For Darcy, well, like she said, she’s different. With not much knowledge of what she was like before, she has minimal base for if her personality has undergone any changes. After everything so far she’s certainly a fighter, likes to roughhouse with the twins after training, but she finds a solace from her nightmares in the void of space. She talks with ghosts in the air between this realm and theirs, pulls them forward through careful sweeps of shimmering orange, and boosts her own strength with what was once theirs.

The sunset glow of the Soul Stone hides itself away in the locket that never leaves her neck.

She doesn’t know much about it, just what the spirits call it and the fact that Strucker wants it, _badly_. He’d tried to take it once, a long time ago when she first got her powers, he didn’t get very close before he cried out at a burn against his fingers; he hasn’t made an attempt like that since and she doesn’t dare try to touch it either.

Life as an experiment has a routine, it’s under very drastic circumstances that the routine gets broken.

The Avengers are certainly a drastic circumstance.

* * *

Darcy lies on her back on the slab of a mattress she calls a bed, ankles crossed and one arm folded behind her head with the other outstretched, bouncing a ball between it and the blank ceiling above her.

She doesn’t feel the buzz of being watched like she normally does at this hour, so unless her internal clock is totally off-kilter, she has a sense that something’s wrong. She hazards a glance at the mirror not two feet across the room but sees nothing but herself, lying there in her well-worn scrubs and the familiar shimmer in her eyes.

She catches the ball one last time before she sits up, brown waves falling around her shoulders as she puts the ball between her pillow and the wall.

Everything is strangely silent, not even the white noise of the assistants running around with papers and laptops is present. She tries to strain her ears but nothing hits them so she swings her legs over the side of the bed and lets her bare feet touch the cold, stone floor.

Such a movement seems to set something off, the click of shoes hitting the floor outside echoing along the empty hallway until they halt in front of her room. The individual outside stands there for so long she almost reaches out to feel for their soul, but either they realise they’re just standing there or they realise what she might do, because in the next moment the steel door is being hauled open and she’s face to face with a disheveled scientist.

“One-oh-nine, with me, please,” he squeaks, nudging his glasses up his nose before they fall off.

She nods, stepping out of the concrete cell she calls a room and carefully following the scientist’s rushed half-run down the halls - she isn’t quite sure if she’s supposed to be out given this man isn’t her handler, but, she knows better than to ask questions.

The further from her room they get, the louder the facility starts to become, someone’s yelling - not Strucker, not yet - and the scientist leads her across one of the training rooms, devoid of life, and towards the showers at the back of the space.

The scientist rips the door to the room open, hardly startling Wanda and Pietro who are already there - the former fully dressed and sat on the bench in the middle of the room while the latter stands shirtless about a step away from her - and shoves Darcy inside. She waits until the door slams shut behind her to loosen her taut muscles.

“You okay?” Pietro asks, wandering over as he pulls a t-shirt over his head.

She stretches her arms up above her head and crosses the room to her locker, “yeah, just confused.”

Wanda hums, rolling up the sleeves of her dress, “aren’t we all.”

Darcy pulls a bundle of fabric into her arms and swings her locker door shut with a metal clang. Escaping the roughness of the scrubs is a blessing and she tosses the offending clothes into the pile at the end of the room, yanking on an easy, black hoodie dress, tights, and combat boots while shifting her hair up into a ponytail.

She and Wanda allow Pietro a second the shrug on a jacket, zipping it half up so it doesn’t fall off at any point, before they exit the showers.

Strucker’s waiting for them in the centre of the training room, arms folded and face stern; he says nothing, just gives a jolt of his head and the three of them are following after him easily.

Amidst the growing chaos of the facility, Darcy’s hands find the wrists of the twins at her sides, thumbs sliding up to their pulse points. Their heartbeats are as normal, Pietro’s a little too fast to be human but something Darcy’s grown used to, and Wanda’s a controlled rhythm that helps keep Darcy grounded in reality.

“Who gave the order to attack?” Crossing the threshold into the room seems to snap whatever cord of calm Strucker had been holding onto.

The clacking of ancient keyboards hardly halts at the shouting. Darcy can see a number of files being moved on the closest computer, and she assumes the same things is happening on the others... they’re gutting the system clean. Leaving.

There’s a flurry of activity from the soldiers around the room and the word _Avengers_ is breathed into the air; the twins tense under her fingers, Wanda inhaling sharply and Pietro’s fists clenching. Darcy feels a ghost of familiarity wash over her, not just because she’s been trained to know who the Avengers are, but something else, something to do with the lightning that stitches her mind together at its worst.

Strucker turns his back to them, arguing with the head doctor about their readiness for the field; Pietro gives her a little tug, and the three of them huddle in a close circle, the sounds of battle a backdrop to their conversation.

“The Avengers means Tony Stark,” the speedster mumbles, keeping them out of earshot.

Tony Stark is a name Darcy has heard a lot. She has no personal link to him, but the tools his business has built hurt Pietro and Wanda, she’s heard their stories and thinks the malice in her heart towards the billionaire, while never reaching that of what the siblings hold, is enough that she understands how any link to him could get them feeling.

“They’ll be coming in here, won’t they,” She says, more of a statement than a question, “they’re probably looking for the staff and whatever information they,” she gestures vaguely at the rushing scientists, “leave behind.”

Wanda nods, biting at her bottom lip, “I’ll stay here, Stark will want to enter himself, you two can stall the others.”

Pietro looks mildly concerned at the thought of leaving his sister alone for an extended period of time, but his eyes flash to Strucker and the doctor - still arguing in hardly-hushed tones - before he squares his shoulders and nods. The three of them slip from the room, Wanda taking off down one way, before Darcy allows Pietro to lift her off her feet and dash out of the facility and into the surrounding, snow-covered forest.

Her feet hit the ground with a nearly inaudible crunch and she throws her hood up before the cold sinks beneath her clothes too much. She and Pietro share another look nodding to each other before he disappears amongst the trees. Her hand comes to rest against where the locket sits against her skin, exhaling a puff of visible air before closing her eyes and focusing. She sweeps her other arm in a careful arch, the orange wisps seeping out of her fingertips and absorbing together until it takes the form of Catarina.

The tiger chuffs, pawing at the ground and sparing a glance at Darcy, “just hold them off,” she says, allowing the spirit to run off.

She sprints off in a different direction, leaping over roots and weaving around bushes as soldiers go flying through the air around her; she sees the blur of Pietro off in the distance and feels every pounce and swat Catarina makes, the souls of the critically wounded lackeys crying out to be fixed before they fizzle out and die.

Her boots carve divots into the snow when she comes skidding to a halt by one of many fallen trees; the man by it, previously sniping targets from afar, swings his gun the second she stops and they hold eye contact for a long moment; her eyes flicker to his exposed metal arm, well, this is certainly a surprise.

“Asset.”

He makes an exasperated noise, probably would’ve thrown his arms to the sky were he not holding her at gunpoint, “really?”

Darcy keeps her gaze steady, starting to circle him to see if he’ll really shoot without her doing anything; she can see another gun at his hip, this one smaller and for closer range than the one he holds now.

“Listen, whatever HYDRA’s told you about _anything_ , it’s not true-“

She pauses, eyebrows scrunching together for a heartbeat. It takes her almost too long to remember that Asset had been wiped of memory far more often than she had been, had been alone for a lot longer too.

For her and the twins, HYDRA always knew there was never that much trust, the only thing that ever stopped the three of them from leaving of their own volition were personal grudges and the very fear of ending up like Asset - or, well, what they thought he ended up like.

“I know.”

His gun lowers just slightly, confusion crossing his own features, and then they’re back to staring. Darcy feels a tug at her soul and flicks her wrist to send Catarina dissipating back into Nowhere; that movement catches Asset’s attention, confusion seeming to grow until he finally makes a move.

His foot crunches into the snow and Darcy hops backwards, allowing the shimmer of orange to overtake her hands as she swipes them through the air and calls a bundle of smaller spirits. Asset watches her with wide eyes before lining up his gun and taking a shot, he aims for her leg but one of the spirits dives up to take it, disappearing upon the contact. A pair of butterflies circle Asset’s eyes, he doesn’t seem too distracted, but the prior shock alone allows one of the child spirits to snatch the gun at his hip and toss it to Darcy, sinking back to Nowhere after the fact.

The gun lands in her hand, the weight shifting until it fits into her palm with rehearsed ease. She doesn’t give Asset a second to breathe, firing a shot that he blocks with his metal arm and another that embeds itself in his thigh, he grunts but doesn’t react much more than that. They end up staring again, both guns raised though neither daring to fire, blood drips lazily from the hole in his trousers and Darcy knows if she pulls anymore spirits out as fast as she has been doing she’ll wear herself out.

He notices their standstill, reaching his flesh hand up to press against the communications device he has in his ear, “reporting a second enhanced. Female. Energy shadows or _something_.”

Darcy feels the flutter of silver and allows herself to smirk, “or something works.”

Pietro comes out of the trees and scoops her up, she manages to close her eyes before he goes full speed again, avoiding the motion sickness that comes from seeing the world become stripes of mangled colour.

One second she’s in the bitter cold, and the next she’s in the warmer room of the facility this had all started in, her feet meeting the stone floor once again. Pietro takes a moment to wrangle the handgun out of her palm, unloading it to tuck the pieces into his jacket pockets.

“That was close,” he says, a little breathless from so much exertion, “I thought he was supposed to be _dead_.”

She pulls her hood away from her head, “well he’s very clearly _alive_ unless Stark suddenly knows how to resurrect and/or clone people,” she runs a hand through her hair with a sigh.

Pietro cracks his neck with a groan, shuffling on his feet and sending a quick look around the scattered things in the room.

Darcy goes to say more but something gives her pause; it’s faint, but a little red pull has her grabbing Pietro’s wrist and muttering a quick, “go check on Wanda.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, speeding out of the room and throwing already scattered papers further across the floor. She leans against the nearest wall then, fingers coming to run along the copper chain of her locket, and closing her eyes. She zeroes in on Pietro and his soft, silver butterfly, sinking into the corner of the room and calming herself with that for just a moment.

Spirits of the living always have something she can identify them with, be it a colour, a feeling that morphs into a smell. Pietro feels like a cabin in winter, like fresh honey melted into a warm tea on a rainy day in the city; he feels like safety and protection, even in the moments he allows his anger to take hold and spark the cabin on fire or turn the honey tea into bitter black coffee.

A shuddering red floats past the room, not the same glittering red as Wanda, but a shiny, metallic red that suddenly invades her senses with the scent of oil and copper. She presses herself further into her corner and watches with half-wide eyes as Tony Stark, decked in full armour, leaves the facility with the sceptre in his grip.

The twins appear not a moment later, the three of them standing in that dark corner of the trashed room and holding each other as close as they can. They’re alone for the first time in a long time, they’re free to go wherever but the Avengers, if they don’t know already, will know who they are in a matter of days and who knows what they’ll do to them then.

“Let’s get out of here.”


	2. Ultron and the Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me far longer than I expected to write, but, here it is ! Quite different from the initial one (with a few similarities og fic readers might recognise). Nevertheless ! I hope you enjoy this one and I hope I don’t take too long writing the next

The twins always said that their home city was cold after their parents died; Darcy isn’t really sure if she’s experienced an emotional coldness from a city before, but if she had, she’s sure this is the feeling she’d get. The streets are nigh on empty, a late November breeze funnelled down the roads by tall, close together buildings; the snow isn’t nearly as bad here as it was in the woods, a light dusting almost entirely trampled to ugly mush.

She walks beside Pietro while Wanda leads them, following some instinct that kicked in when they clambered out of the trees and onto the gravel of the outer-city paths. Tightening her ponytail, she shoves her hands into her pockets and huffs out a cloud, watching it dissipate into the air as her eyes drift across the dim street lamps dotted infrequently along the road.

She wonders vaguely about what the Avengers are doing now, licking their wounds and researching probably; the most information Strucker kept on them is physical, where those files are now Darcy doesn’t know, but, there’s pieces kept digitally, plus, with their faces on hackable cameras, Stark will probably be able to find a way to ID them and figure out what they can do. The next time they encounter each other will be a fairer fight she’s sure.

Wind hisses through the air and Darcy frees one of her hands to reach over and clasp Pietro’s, offering a tight-lipped smile when he looks over; he squeezes her hand and doesn’t let go. The gun, now pieced back together, rattles quietly in the pocket closest to her, hidden enough to not get them into trouble, but obvious enough for either one of them to grab it if they need to.

They come to the church in the middle of the city eventually, the structure looking shaky on its foundations, like many of the buildings they’ve passed, and surrounded by a wire fence which does little to stop people from getting inside. Wanda pauses at the base of the fence, allowing Darcy and Pietro to finally catch up with her long strides; they wait, watching her eyes flash red for an imperceivable beat before she turns back and nods.

“We’re in the right place.”

“Is there someone in there?” Darcy finds herself asking, hazarding a stretch of her powers only to feel nothing, a hollow, cold space in the surrounding well of souls that litter the rest of the city, “it doesn’t feel like it.”

Wanda shakes her head, “there’s something.”

That doesn’t make her feel much better, but, she nods anyway, watching with careful attention to their surroundings as Wanda scales the fence, landing on the other side easily and kicking up a cloud of dirt around her ankles. Pietro’s hand slips from hers as he goes to climb next, the fence rattling much louder with his extra weight and wobbling unsteadily when he straddles the top to clamber back down. Darcy’s boots rattle the fence just as heavily, but she’s relatively small so it shakes generally a whole lot less as she’s making her way up.

It’s as she reaches the top that something feels even mildly wrong, she pauses, both legs hanging down on the side where Pietro still waits, but Wanda’s already gone inside the church by herself, pulled by something the other two can’t feel. The locket that normally rests cooly against her skin burns sharp and searing hot, prompting Darcy to bring her hand up and pull it out of where it hides underneath the fabric of her clothes; the heat of it sinks through every layer she has and the only thing she can even take it as is a warning of some kind.

“Darcy?” Pietro calls gently, still standing at the base of the fence and looking up at her.

The fire of the copper chills almost instantly, as if the stone remembers she’s not alone. She releases a breath she barely knew she was holding and closes her eyes to centre herself with the light of the twins’ souls, illuminated brightly against the darkness of her eyelids.

When her feet hit the ground, Pietro steadies her with an arm against her back, a look of concern pinching his features while his eyes flicker to the locket as she tucks it beneath her collar again.

“What was that?” He asks, tone hushed and gaze wary.

She can only shrug a little helplessly, palm pressing against chest, “I think something about this is wrong.”

Wanda calls out before he can answer, pulling their attention to where she stands in the centre of the church; Darcy hears Pietro choke on the icy air around them, her own throat burning with her sharp intake. Her eyes focus on the imposing figure beside Wanda, taller than any of them by at least a foot and a half, body made of sleek, shiny metal, and eyes glowing an unfriendly shade of red.

“You seem surprised.” The android speaks like a person, voice deep and almost vibrating.

Pietro swallows, composing himself and stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, Darcy sees his fingers unconsciously curl around the gun and hopes the silver creation doesn’t.

“We weren’t...” he swallows again, “we weren’t exactly expecting something like you.”

The android nods, a noise of understanding escaping whatever voicebox it - he? - has, and it offers them a brisk bow, “I am Ultron, you must be Strucker’s other surviving experiments.”

Something about being boiled down to _experiments_ feels slightly sour, but she nods nonetheless, “were you waiting for us?”

“I was.”

He says nothing more and spins on his heel, stalking away to a staircase hidden at the back of the church and sparing them a single glance before disappearing down it. Darcy and the twins exchange a look and Pietro takes point following first, the three of them descending decaying, stone steps into the darkness of what lies beneath the old structure.

It’s far more spacious than she feels the underside of a church should be, she can only wonder how much time Ultron has had to put this together. There’s dozens of pieces of tech scattered along the floor, most of it looks like it was lifted from the facility - did he go there first? Did he come here when he realised the three of them hadn’t stuck around? - hundreds, if not _millions_ , of smaller replicas of himself fly around, building duplicates of themselves and moving the equipment into whatever place seems to suit them.

“I’ve come to save the world,” Ultron hums, dubious to their gaping mouths and tensed shoulders, “we’ll move out right away. This is a start,” he gestures to the room as a whole, “but there’s something we need to begin the real work.”

Wanda takes the smallest step forward, Pietro tensing further as if to stop himself from grabbing her, “these are all-“

“Me.” For someone without a soul he manages to replicate arrogance painfully well, “I have what the Avengers never will: harmony. They’re discordant, disconnected; Stark has already got them turning on each other.” He turns to look at them all, eyes drifting down to focus on where Wanda stands.

Pietro finally breaks, crossing in front of his sister to pull Ultron’s attention to him, “your plan is not to kill them?”

“And make them martyrs?” He makes a noise like scoff, metal fingers grinding against one another as they clench, “you need patience, you need to see the bigger picture.”

“What is it that you needed us for?” Darcy pipes up, hand wrapped around Wanda’s wrist to keep an eye on her heartbeat, “judging by everything from the lab, you came looking. Why?”

He gives them another once over, stepping away and back towards his duplicates, his voice warbles ever so slightly when he speaks next, “I wondered why you, of all people, were the ones to survive Strucker’s experiments, and I had a look through your records. There wasn’t much, but from what I’ve seen I understand why; you Maximoffs are fighters, survivors, incredible youths who deserve every drop of power you’ve been granted. Miss Lewis, however, I could only find a small SHIELD file for, given HYDRAs usual methods I doubt you remember much of your time with them. It doesn’t quite explain why you survived, nor why you were chosen, but you’re here now, and you’re useful.”

Darcy’s eyes flicker to the twins, Wanda sends a subtle wave of calm through them all, her soul feels like cherry soda on a summer day, the sweetness bubbling ever stronger in the wake of the comfort she tries to give to the three of them.

“But you asked a question,” Ultron finally continues, angling his head to stare without turning, “and your answer, Miss Lewis, is that we all have ways of hurting these _Avengers_ , but, yourself and Miss Maximoff have ways of tearing them apart from the inside.”

* * *

It’s been a few days since that night in Sokovia, Darcy isn’t totally sure where exactly in the world they are right now, and she still isn’t totally accumulated to such a loose schedule, but, that _thing_ Ultron needed turns out to be vibranium. They’ve raided a couple of labs on their search for it, each one coming up empty until the most recent one that gave them a lead to the man they’re here to see now.

Darcy and the twins haven’t exactly slept in those few days, not that they sleep much normally, but they have eaten more than they usually do, which is good for all of them though Pietro especially. She’s managed to get some new clothes too which is wonderful, trading the dress and tights for a black skinny jean and oversized brown sweater combo (the first lab they’d visited had been _cold_ ); she still has her scuffed combat boots, and her hair is still tied in it’s unwashed ponytail with more rogue wisps than usual.

They’re in an old ship now, long since abandoned and easily repurposed by the one Ulysses Klaue for his illegal business. There isn’t much in the way of population around, a city a few miles east but otherwise this steel graveyard is another cold spot for souls and she still isn’t sure if that feeling is reassuring or unnerving.

She’s kneeling in front of a generator, main panel open to show wires and lights she can’t wrap her head around, Ultron is a few paces behind her, stood by the only staircase out of the room and watching her. She waits for a few silent moments before she feels Wanda send a mental push, and then her hand gains a glove of orange and she yanks out as many wires from the generator as she can.

The generator’s insides spark and stutter around her hand, she can feel the heat but the burn is swallowed by the amalgamation of small souls around it. They’re plunged into darkness for only a second before the emergency lights burst to life and allow her to see Ultron nod before disappearing up the staircase again.

She follows after him silently, listening to the tell-tale signs of movement and glass shattering before emerging from the generator room completely. Klaue is on the floor surrounded by the shards and groaning, Ultron is inches from his nose, murmuring something before backing up and allowing the man’s grunt to help him up.

Back on his feet, Klaue spares her a look, “so there’s three of you?”

Pietro, unwrapping a tossing a hard candy in his mouth, huffs and crosses his arms, “we’re a package deal.”

She, herself, rolls her eyes and crosses the corridor, coming to Wanda’s side as Klaue leads Ultron to the main walkways of the ship. Pietro grins a little, still chewing on his candy, and Wanda throws him her best _please-be-serious_ look, complete with a swift whack on the arm; he’s still smirking a little when they come to a wall of toxic waste.

Much like HYDRA, Klaue has ways of hiding what’s important to him, an easy switch has the walls of waste cycling back to reveal the cylinders of vibranium they’re looking for.

Ultron takes one between sharp fingers, being oh so careful to not scratch the glass with his jagged parts, “upon this rock, I will build my church.” If he had the capability to smile, Darcy’s positive he would be right now, fiery eyes gazing in what can only be described as adoration.

“You know,” Klaue starts, watching Ultron toss the cylinder back to Pietro who catches it swiftly, “it came at great personal cost. It’s worth billions.”

A tin chuckle escapes the android before them, Darcy still finds the noise unsettling, and they watch him take a pause to stare into the air blankly. Klaue is worth billions now too, apparently, and a mantra of some kind makes its way into the conversation; a look of recognition crosses the merchant’s face.

He squints, pointing after a moment, “Stark. Tony Stark used to say that to me... you’re one of his.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ultron protests wildly, claws clamping around Klaue’s arm and eyes seeming to glow even brighter than before with a fire that should never be able to be formed by a man with no heart. Klaue’s grunt tries to take a step forward but Wanda’s hands twist and stop him just as Ultron gives another violent, venomous tug on Klaue and slices cleanly through his arm, severing the limb with a burst of blood.

Darcy suppresses a gasp with her hand, taking a minute step back at the same time Wanda does, grunt released from her powers, and Pietro nearly drops the cylinder of vibranium he still holds onto.

With Klaue growing weak from blood loss, Ultron’s voice goes soft, insincere apologies flowing out of him, “don’t compare me with Stark! It’s a thing with me. Stark is- he’s a _sickness_.” With a jolt, Klaue is down the staircase they’d come up before, his grunt frantically disappearing down it of his own accord.

The sound of heavy metal landing on the walkway behind them reverberates through the open room, Stark’s voice fills their ears and they turn to watch him land in his full Iron Man gear. On one side, he has Captain America in his iconic red and blues, and on the other a man who’s name she _knows_ she should know, but there’s a wall where that information should be and she doesn’t know how to break it down.

The trio of Avengers are primarily focused on Stark’s wayward creation, the Captain’s eyes flicker over to her and the twins every couple of seconds, and the red-caped man does the same more frequently, eyebrows pinched with every passing glance at Darcy. The conversation isn’t going anywhere good and Pietro steps back to pull the handgun out from the waistband of his jeans and hold it at his side, slightly tilted towards her in offering.

“You still have that?” She whispers, taking it into her hand, she’d thought he’d either lost it or thrown it in some deep body of water days ago.

Pietro shoots her a slightly incredulous look, “what was I supposed to do? Give it to the police?”

She has no time to tease back, a blast of energy from one of Stark’s repulsers barely missing her trio’s heads that initiates a battle that’s been bubbling since they started this.

Wanda disappears into the back corridors and Pietro takes off immediately, his blue lightning crackling on the ground where he once stood. Darcy sprints down one of the walkways, slowing only to sweep her hand out behind her and call out Catarina; the spirit jumping into battle without needing to be told and a distinguishable son of a bitch escaping the Captain on that path.

She swings around at the end of the walkway, vaulting over the guard rail to land loudly on the ground floor of the ship. The clicking of a gun has her spinning around and holding up her own.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Asset speaks easily, she notices his uniform still has a hole where his old bullet wound used to be, but all that’s left of the former injury is a clean white scar that she can hardly see anyway.

She manages a smirk, “we should stop meeting like this, Asset, people are gonna talk.”

He hazards a step forward but she doesn’t move, “couldn’t find much info on you, you always this hard to research?”

“Do you always try to make conversation instead of fighting?” She asks, “because from what I understand, you should be trying to kick my ass right now.”

“Maybe I just don’t feel like shooting you,” He counters, gun still raised to her chest, “or I know you’ll have something to stop me.” Well he isn’t exactly wrong.

Pietro suddenly cuts through their stand-off, thrown into the stack of crates next to them by a flying hammer; her eyes widen a fraction, body automatically reacting to his pain. Catarina skids onto the floor between them and roars at Asset who freezes and backs up enough for Darcy to side step and crouch in front of Pietro, her spirit’s growling a reassuring enough barricade.

She reaches forward and presses her fingers to a small cut on Pietro’s temple, he flinches, hissing out a Sokovian swear that Wanda would slap him for using if she was here. The cut isn’t bleeding too profusely, just a single dribble of red that she wipes away easily with her sleeve even between his protests.

Thrusters sound from behind her and Catarina lets out another warning roar, her tail flicking wildly and phasing through Darcy’s stomach with a tingle. Pietro seems okay, so she sits back against her heels just as the familiar voice of Stark whistles out to Catarina as if that’ll stop her from hissing at them (if anything it makes her more inclined to pounce).

Somewhere on the ship, Wanda’s soul suddenly hiccups, the sweet chill of soda spoiling into something that’s been left too long in the heat. Something on her face must alert Pietro because he sits up and stares at her with uncertain, stormy eyes.

“Go.”

“But-“

“ _Go_. I’ll be fine.”

He leaves her staring at bouncing lines of electricity on the rusting, metal floor. Before the blue dissipates, she holds the tip of her little finger out and allows the jolt of a shock to travel up her arm and through her heart for a solid, grounding, moment.

“So, what?” Stark’s voice is twinged with a smugness that sets her nerves on fire, she brushes her hair from her face and inhales as she stretches up into a stand. Catarina whispers a dangerous purr into the frozen battlefield and Darcy can only offer Stark a look from the corner of her eye.

“They just leave you here? No loyalty, love?” Stark feigns a startled gasp, hand thrown over his covered heart that flutters a steel rhythm, “did you guys have a squabble?”

“As if you can speak on love, Stark,” she finally turns and almost spits, tongue dipped in a venom she could only develop from stories she’s heard from the twins, “I don’t owe you people anything. Do what you will, but you’ll get nothing out of me.”

She’s the one cornered here, but out of everyone she’s the only one who could get out of this situation alive if they decided to attack. The three men in front of her have very distinct souls, easy for her to reach out and grab; they look, _feel_ , so easy to rip out with delicate fingers, the snakes hidden in her head want to see them crumble but the doves circling her heart hold them back.

Stark’s metallic red isn’t unfamiliar to her. He feels like a restless night spurred on by cups on cups of coffee, not quite pleasant but something she fears she understands far too much for his or her own good. The taste of oil coats her tastebuds when she focuses for too long, before it poisons her senses anymore, she tilts her attention to the blue at his left.

The Captain appraises her with what can only be considered curiosity, or something akin to... concern? She hasn’t seen that sort of look in someone’s eyes in a long time, some sort of wary pity that makes him likely to lash out but not likely to kill her if given the option. His soul is a royal blue, strong and fortified just like him, it reeks of lead pencils and fresh sketchbook paper, and feels like a warm bear hug on a bad day.

Despite her run-ins with Asset, she’s never had a moment to look at his spirit for what it is. Its the colour of charcoal and holds a hidden flame like camping in the hills, smells vaguely of fresh fruit and the biting steel of his guns, his arm. She notices a crack in one of the wings of his soul, spider-webbing lines like broken glass that could completely shatter with one soft tap. It’s the sort of crack she’s seen before, its bigger than the ones the twins have, and stretches further than the one scarring her, but its the same; she supposes its almost like the last clutches HYDRA has on them, the trails open for darkness and shadows to seep underneath and taint with ease.

“Darcy?”

She blinks suddenly, breaking away from her wayward thoughts to look over at the one who spoke, the one who knows her name. It’s the man from before, the one who’s eyes never stopped shifting to her when they were up on the main deck, the one with the bright red cape and a name that hides behind the wall in her head.

He offers her a smile, careful but so real she almost takes a step away from him. Catarina eyes him carefully, though most of the spirit’s attention is still on Stark and the other men.

“I thought it was but a mind game, from the base to now,” he aches with honesty and worry, something in him aches for her and she doesn’t know why, “you’re here... how? How long?”

Her lips are getting chapped from the air she breaths through her teeth, “I don’t-“

The Captain speaks up carefully, hand outstretched, not far enough to set off Catarina and her waiting energy, but enough to catch the blonde man’s attention, “remember what we told you, about her memory?”

“What would you know,” she bites out, but her eyebrows lilt up and her heart starts to stutter, the eyes of the Captain flick between her and Asset who’s shifting around the semicircle they’d made around her.

She tries to ignore his movement and turns to to man still the closest to her, his blond hair falling around his shoulders, a notable lock of black intertwined in a thin braid at the front. His soul is a strong yellow, it’s wings burn with lightning and the feeling of sitting at a window reading during a rainstorm washes over her with the spike of sugar that chases the lingering amalgamation of tastes away from her tongue.

The wall in her mind feels like it’s cracking, bricks shifting along wet cement, it takes effort to keep her face from scrunching up but she can’t avoid her fingers curling into fists at her sides or the dissipating fizzle of Catarina returning to Nowhere. Flashes of things, of this _man_ with no context rush behind her open eyes, thunder rumbles around him in each one and he’s accompanied by faceless figures she has no recollection of.

This is him, the god she remembers if only by feeling alone; his name passes her lips in an uncertain whisper that has his eyes lighting up like Christmas decorations.

“ _Thor_ -?”

Something aims to collide with the side of her head but she reacts faster, the clouds around her thoughts fogging back over to help her focus. She leans back to avoid the hit, grabbing the butt of Asset’s gun and forcing it forward to smack the barrel against his chin. Thor shouts something (a name, maybe, _Barnes_ is a name, right?) but it goes ignored by the two of them as their fight rolls closer to the middle of the floor; his gun quickly abandoned and hers long since left on the floor where Pietro had once been.

She ducks under a swing and spins around him to kick at the back of his knees, he goes careening forward but doesn’t fall; she notices Stark no longer with them, and the Captain has a hand wrapped around Thor’s arm at a small distance from her and Asset. His eyes are narrowed when he pivots back to face her head on, their legs and feet dancing around each other in false kicks and jabs.

He blocks a swing with his left arm, metal fingers curling around her wrist and yanking her forward. She counters quickly, twisting in his grip to plant her other hand against his arm and push down to lift herself off the ground; the sudden weight (however little) on his one side sends him off balance enough for her to clash her knee with his nose and get his crushing grip off her arm.

A sharp prick pierces her side and she’s momentarily distracted by the shooting pain and sudden pooling blood through her sweater around an arrow that came from a stranger up on the deck above. The distraction is enough though, enough for Asset to slam his elbow into the side of her head.

She goes down easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
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**Author's Note:**

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